Egotism and Enmity
by I Want The Cliche
Summary: Modern P&P. From the moment he nearly ran her off the road, Lizzie has always hated Will Darcy, aka the Arrogant Asshole. But now his best friend has got with her sister and she can't avoid him. With the help of Jane, her sister, Chaz, her best friend and a little bit of matchmaking from her mother, can she realize that he's not all that bad? Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a good wife."_

.

Although my full name is Elizabeth, no one has called me that in years. As far back as I can remember, my friends and family have called me Lizzie. I have quite a large family, especially for today's standards, I suppose. There's my parents, Natasha and Richard Bennett, and much to my horror, me and my four other sisters. Jane is my only older sister, who is twenty six (don't tell her I told you), then comes me, aged twenty four (unlike some I don't mind people knowing my age), then Marie, Kat and Lydia. Although he's never and would never say it, I know that my father was secretly hoping for a boy and I'm probably the nearest he's got. I'm by no means a tomboy, but I'm pretty keen on football and not mad about the colour pink. That was close enough for him and I had to put up with some 'daddy's girl' teasing from the rest of the Bennett clan throughout my childhood. They were obviously just jealous. My mother is, for want of a better word, a drama queen. Don't get me wrong, I love her with all my heart, but sometimes I do wonder about her sanity.

Let me explain. Ever since we were tiny, she had been obsessed with setting me and my sisters up with 'eligible bachelors' and playing matchmaker with her friends. As weird as it was when we were ten, it was getting increasingly disturbing the older I got. The only one of us who doesn't mind the incessant set ups is Lydia, and that's only because she's seventeen and boy mad. The others have somehow put up with it, including Marie, who always gets the weird ugly nerds (not that I wonder why), but I can't stand it.

I was a bit of a late bloomer in the romance and hormones department, I have to admit. Boys didn't really grab my attention until I was about sixteen, so by then I had already earned myself the title of prude and frigid (and also at one point lesbian, but coming from Greasy Gavin, it hadn't meant much). I decided that it would be easier for me to stay away from the male population until they had proved they weren't more trouble than they were worth, despite my popular opinion. At twenty four, some might be ashamed to say that they had never been in a real relationship, but not me - I wore that status like a badge, proud that I wasn't conforming to society's crushing and derogatory rules.

Sometimes I come across too feminist for my own good.

But I would learn, that summer, that maybe I didn't have to go through life as an old maid (much to my mother's delight) and that I could find love in a species who I hadn't thought were any good for anything except farting.

.

Being a teacher, I do get absolutely fantastic holidays. The summer came with a deliciously long, and much needed, eight week long break. This summer, though, the feeling of freedom was slightly quashed by my mother's birthday. She'd planned a party, which involved me going back to my parent's house for a 'long weekend' and being completely surrounded my distant family and friends who I hadn't seen in about ten years. No doubt there would be overly nosy questions about my love life (or lack of) - there always was, and, no doubt, there would be a number of disappointed faces when I _gently_ told them that, no, in fact, I _HAVE NOT_ decided to desperately join just to hook up with some desperate old fogey. Ahem.

"Jane? Are you nearly ready?" I shouted from my spot on the sofa, where I was waiting for my sister to lug her suitcase downstairs. Jane had moved to London when she went to university, and I had followed her two years after. I'd moved in with her after realising that the London housing market was a cruel and vicious place to be, and sort of ended up staying with her for five years. She didn't mind. That's what she told me, anyway.

"I'm just coming," she shouted back. I heard loud, irregular thumps from the direction of the staircase and I hoped that that meant she was finally ready. I'm not sure if you can tell, but I'm not the patient sort.

I went to open the door in the hallway to load up my old car, but my mouth fell open when I saw my sister's luggage. "Jane! We're only going away for four days! You have enough stuff to clothe a third world country!"

Jane just shrugged and waved an impatient hand across her face. "You wouldn't understand, Lizzie," she said, moving past me, dragging her massive case and _two_ sports bags behind her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, following behind her, with my case, which was literally half the size of Jane's. As I slid it into the trunk, filling up what little room was left, I made a mental note to see to the rust that was beginning to form on the paintwork of my little Renault. It's a vintage car, alright? There was a disturbing groaning noise as I shut the boot, but it was all packed in. I couldn't see out of the rear windscreen, but hey - at least Jane can bring her straighteners, curlers and hair dryer!

"Right then," I said, clapping my hands together. "Who's ready for a road trip?" Before turning on the engine, I skimmed through my in car CD collection.

"Oh God, let me choose," said Jane, a worry crease forming above her eyebrows. "I don't think I can manage sitting through two hours of _your _music."

"Hey," I retorted, with wide eyes. "What's wrong with my music choice? It's brilliant!"

Jane arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. (Remind me to get round to that). "It's very loud," she said, very diplomatically and carefully. Loud, though, is pretty accurate; I'm a Led Zep, Stones and Queen fan. I would have fitted right into the 80s.

You would never guess Jane and I are sisters. She is tall, willowy and the kindest person I know. She was the sister who everyone loved all the way through school and always was the best at everything. I am 5'5", brunette and really grumpy. I've only been on three dates in my life (although Lydia always tells me that eating lunch with someone in the school cafe isn't really a date) and I have a hate list...God, I'm a primary school teacher, that should never have been admitted…

"Fine," I sigh dramatically, with a pout on my lips. I slumped back into my driving seat. "You choose then." I'm not bitter at all, in any way. "Put on Classic FM or whatever the hell it is you listen to."

"You're so dramatic," said Jane. "I don't always listen to classical music. Just when I'm painting." That's another thing about Jane. She's _arty_. Honestly, she majored in fine arts and history of art and uni and she works in a gallery. That sort of arty. She isn't quite a hippy yet, but I give her another two years. She fiddled around with the radio dial, while I reversed out of the parking space, perhaps a little enthusiastically.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?" Jane asked.

"No, I'm a perfectly capable driver."

Jane snorted. "Sorry, can you remind me how many driving tests you took before you actually passed?"

"Shut up."

"Sorry, was it four?"

"Jane!"

.

"Yellow car! I win, I win!" I shouted. We were playing my favourite car game and I was winning. As usual.

"You are so weird," said Jane. "Only you would take a game like this seriously."

"Whatever. What's the point of playing a game if you don't play to win."

"Liz. It's the yellow car game," she said slowly. "Honestly, I think the kids you teach are starting to rub off on you."

I shrugged. "As long as I'm not starting to rub off on them, that's okay!"

We were almost at my parent's house, Longbourn. It was a pretty house, more like a large cottage, and growing up there had been fun. The garden was huge and when I was little I used to spend ages exploring it. Although I considered Longbourn big, it was nothing compared to Netherfield Park, the huge Georgian mansion just up the lane. There used to be an old couple living there, while we grew up, and Jane and I used to visit them occasionally with Mum. A couple of years ago, the old woman died from a terminal illness and a short time later, her husband died too. My mother used to say that he died because of a broken heart, but I was too cynical to believe that. The house had been put up on the market, but in my opinion, this economic climate meant a huge house like that would be empty for a long time. So, it was a bit of shock when I drove up the lane that led to both houses and saw SOLD stamped across the For Sale sign that stood at the front of the Netherfield driveway.

"Jane, look!" I said, "Someone's bought Netherfield!"

"I wonder who," said my sister. "Another old rich couple do you think?"

"Yeah probably," I said, "Although I hope it's something more exciting."

"You always want something exciting."

At that moment, just as I was about to pull into the driveway of my parent's house, and off the joint lane that led up to Netherfield, a shiny black beast of a car roared past and overtook me from behind.

"Shit!" I yelled, swerving onto the grassy verge to avoid the collision. In hindsight, I am impressed that my car was able to move and break and quickly and efficiently as it did. Take that MOT. As the car passed, I saw the heads of two men; the passenger, with auburn hair and the driver, with dark hair. "Hooligan!" I yelled, shaking my fist out the window, holding up a certain finger, but by this time the car was already 50 metres away. I shook my head. "There's a man with more money than sense. Boys and their toys." And I couldn't think of any other wise sayings off the top of my head, so I put the car into reverse and took it off the bank.

Jane clutched nervously at her seatbelt. "God, he was a worse driver than you Lizzie."

.

Our mother was already standing outside the house, on the gravel driveway, a ridiculously large smile on her face. She was waving like one of those weighted cats that are in Chinese takeaways. Our father was behind her, looking at his watch. Poor dad, who knows what time Mum made him come outside.

I parked the car, and Jane and I both climbed out, glad to be able to stretch our legs. "Hello darlings," said Mum. "Did you have a nice journey?"

"If by 'nice' you mean, 'did Lizzie crash the car', then yes, it was nice," said Jane, ever the loving sister. She kissed our mother on both cheeks. The latter then proceeded to hold her daughter in front of her, looking her up and down. "Are you eating enough?" Mum asked, her piercing blue eyes on Jane.

"Yes mother, I'm eating _plenty_," Jane said, rolling her eyes. "Lizzie makes sure of that. She's a terrible influence when it comes to food."

"Thanks Jane," I muttered, going over to give my dad a hug. Despite the whole 'family reunion' business, I was glad to be seeing him at least. "Where's everyone else then?" I asked, bracing myself and looking round.

"Lydia and Kat are inside," Dad said. "Probably brushing their hair or whatever it is they spend their time doing. Marie is reading, as usual. She's going through a Dracula faze again, so watch out for some dramatics." I grimaced. Nothing had changed. "Gran and Grandad are coming tomorrow morning," he continued. My mouth unwittingly turned down at the corners. Seeing my expression Dad grinned. "I know, love, but we have to butter them up so they leave us _some_ money in their wills." There he goes again, surprising me not only with his ridiculously dark and dry humour, but also with his uncanny skills in the field of telepathy.

I went back to the car and tugged my suitcase out. "So we saw that Netherfield has been bought. Do we know who the new owners are?"

I heard my father groan. "Now look what you've started," I think I heard him mutter, but he was already heading back into the house with some of Jane's luggage.

"Well," said my mother, "The man who's bought it is called Charles Bingley. His father is on The Times' Rich List, would you believe?!" Sometimes is struck me how shallow my mother can be. "He's nearly thirty and very, very single. He seems just your type," she added to Jane. "I can't wait for you to meet him," said slyly.

"Mum..." Jane began, trying to take the calm route.

I cut right across her. "We are not interested in being set up, Mum. Even if it is your birthday."

"But Lizzie, darling, Mr Bingley has a friend staying with him at the moment. _Very_ good looking. I'm sure you two would be-"

"Don't!" I said. "Don't finish that sentence. We both know that you, me and dating does not match."

My mother narrowed her eyes. "Fine. I'll just resign myself to the fact that I'm going to have an old maid for a daughter whose only relationship is with her cats!"

I exchanged an amused look with Jane. This speech wasn't new to us. "Damn straight, Ma," I said. But I only got an exasperated noise and hands in the air as a response.

.

"Girls!" Mum called from the foot of the main staircase. "Jane and Lizzie have arrived. Come and say hello."

I heard footsteps from upstairs. The first pair of feet that I saw were bare, but there were probably about a billion anklets on each leg: Kat. The next was wearing a pair of pink, flowery flip flops, matched with bright purple nail varnish. _Definitely _Lydia. The last feet to trudge slowly down the stairs were laced into a clunky pair of black Doc Martens, with a ratty pair of rainbow socks poking out over the top. Marie. Oh dear.

There ensued the usual flurry of hugs and kisses if you hadn't seen your family for months. Lydia was being as over dramatic as ever - I swear one day that girl will be on the stage. Kat was acting scarily mature and grown up (for her at least) and Marie...poor Marie - she was nineteen, but her hormones were still raging away like anything. Her skin was flecked with acne and her hair (that she obviously hadn't bothered to wash in days) was tied up in a greasy ponytail. I winced. The thing is with Marie, is that you expect her to be shy or at least timid. But no: she was loud, bossy and a complete show off. A definite case of middle child syndrome. This plus the fact that she dressed like a mix between a hippy and a punk meant that she was worse off in the boy department than I was. And that really is saying something.

"When's lunch then?" I asked, patting my rumbling stomach.

"Lizzie, we stopped off at a service station an hour ago," said Jane, who seemed intent on exposing all my bad habits to our mother.

I stuck my tongue out at her, proving how mature I can be. "Just because you have the appetite of a stick doesn't mean we all do, sister dearest. I'm a growing girl, I need my food."

"Growing around the middle, maybe," said Marie, snorting with laughter.

I shot her what I hoped was a withering, pitying look. I probably just looked like a gargoyle but the effect was still the same and Marie shut up.

"We can eat in about fifteen minutes," Mum said, ignoring our bickering, a technique which she has perfected over the years. "You and Jane go and unpack now and it'll be ready by the time you've finished.

Jane and I were sharing a room, but we didn't mind - it was plenty big enough for two. Jane unloaded her obscene amount of luggage, which took up the whole cupboard and half of the chest of drawers. I rolled my eyes at her _huge_ bag of makeup and she rolled her eyes when she saw mine, which only contained mascara, eyeliner and a tin of Vaseline.

.

During dinner, I got my first 'surprise'.

I heard Jane give a very un-Jane-like snort from the other end of the table. "Hey, Lizzie," she said. "Guess who Mum has invited to the party."

Seeing Jane's laughter, my mother's I-didn't-do-anything-wrong face and Lydia practically in hysterics, I could only deduce one person. My heart sank. It couldn't be. "Mum, you wouldn't…"

"Colin!" Lydia shrieked with laughter.

I threw my head forward, into my arms in exasperation and disbelief. Colin was a bit of a standing joke in our family. He is my mother's third cousin, twice removed or something ridiculous like that. Practically no relation at all really. I first met him at some other family gathering about three years ago, when I was still at uni. For some reason, he had followed me around like some sick puppy. At the end of the evening (_without my knowledge_, may I add), he got my mobile number from my Mum, who was 'only too happy' to give it to him, finally thinking her daughter had scored. How wrong could she have been. Colin practically _haunted_ me for months until I next saw him at a family wedding. After I had downed a few too many expensive champagnes (so sue me, weddings needed some incentive), there followed a rather embarrassing confrontation, that I had thought would be a good idea. Colin had tried to pull the Puss In Boots card, but I was having none of it. He did tone the text stalking down, but every time I see him at a family event, he still tries to pull those disgusting one liners on me. It's actually, genuinely painful.

"Mum, that's not even funny," I said.

"I'm sorry, darling," she said, in a voice that didn't sound sorry at all. "But I couldn't invite his parents and not him, now could I?"

"Yes you could," I muttered.

"There loads of people coming," said Lydia, in a gossipy tone that sounded scarily like Mum. "Has Mum told you about the new guys up at Netherfield?"

I groaned and slapped a hand across my forehead. "We were only here five minutes and she was already pushing them onto us."

"Well, maybe when you see them you won't mind being set up with them. I sure wouldn't mind an introduction," said Lydia, hinting hopefully and obviously at Mum who tactfully ignored her. If she encouraged Lydia anymore with boys, the world would possibly turn into chaos.

"I was thinking actually," said Mum, thoughtfully. "I've been meaning to drop in on them to see if they would like to come to the party."

"Why don't you," I replied sullenly.

There was a pregnant pause. Jane's eyes met mine. "Oh no," I said, shaking my head. "No way. You do your own dirty work. I have no part in this charade."

"It would really help me out if you two girls would go up the road to drop off the invitations, actually," said Mum, not even listening to my protestations. "I've still got so much to sort out here," she said, turning her puppy dog eyes onto Jane, who she knew was weaker than me. It took Jane about five seconds to cave. I would have to work on that with her later.

"Come on Liz," she said. "We could probably do with the walk anyway. I'm stuffed. It is for Mum's birthday after all.

And this is why Jane will always be the favourite daughter.

.

And that was how Jane and I found ourselves standing outside the huge doorway of Netherfield Hall, feeling stupid for having to actually hunt for a doorbell. "God, it's been a long time since I've been here," said Jane, from the other side of the stone porch where she was looking for a button.

"Me too..ah! Found it! I think…" I said, pulling at a rusty metal chain. From deep within, I heard a jangly noise.

We waited a while and about thirty seconds later, the door opened. A man with auburn hair opened the door. I wracked my brains to remember where I had seen that hair colour somewhere else recently.

"Hi," he said to both of us, although I saw his gaze drag over Jane's for slightly longer than mine.

"Hi," Jane said, taking the lead. I noticed that she looked just as soppy as he did. Well shock horror, maybe Mum's matchmaking was finally starting to pay off! "Sorry to bother you-"

"It's okay," he said quickly, then blushed, which even I have to admit was a little cute. "I mean...er...yeah."

Jane giggled shyly. "I'm Jane Bennett. Our parents live down the lane in Longbourn? This is my sister Lizzie."

"Hi," he said again. He had a nice, friendly smile, which he was using to his full advantage. "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh," Jane said, "We didn't mean to impose."

"Not at all," he said, shaking his head, stepping back to let us in. "I'm Charles Bingley, but you can call me Charlie.

Oh, we know, I almost said, but bit my tongue before the words could escape.

"Well...Charlie...it's a bit of a strange request, but my Mother is having a party tomorrow, her birthday, and she was wondering if you wanted to come? You know, neighbourly relations and all that."

We were following him down a lavishly decorated corridor, that hadn't changed at all since my childhood. He opened a door to a light, creamy coloured room. "Oh, that sounds great," he said, "But, I don't suppose it's possible for my friend to come too, is it? Only he's staying with me for a few days and I couldn't really dump him, no matter how much I want to sometimes." He gestured over to one of the chairs and I noticed, for the first time, someone else sitting in the room too. He was looking at us with very little interest, a snooty expression on his handsome face. He was perhaps thirty or so. Suddenly, I remembered where I had seen them both before.

"Hey! It's you!" I said, pointing at him.

The man looked at me, like I was slightly mad. He raised an eyebrow. "Yes...it's me…"

"No, I mean, you're the guy who nearly drove us off the road earlier!" I glared at him.

"Oh shit," said Charlie. "It was you guys. I would like to apologize on _behalf of my friend_," he said pointedly. "I wanted to stop the car and see if you were okay, Michael Schumacher here was already miles away. Sorry, I haven't introduced you yet. This is Will Darcy, the demon driver."

"To be fair, you did say you needed to be back here quickly," said the Arrogant Asshole with a shrug of his lean shoulders.

"Quickly doesn't mean shoving cars off the road," I snapped.

"Lizzie," said Jane placatingly, tapping my shoulder gently.

"You were going ridiculously slowly!" He said, brown eyes locking with mine.

My mouth dropped. "Because I was about to turn onto a driveway! Unlike some of us, I'm a careful driver!" I think I heard Jane snigger, but I chose to ignore that.

"You can't base one experience on whether or not I'm a careful driver!"

I rolled my eyes. "That's beside the point, mister. I could sue you!"

"But you won't."

"That's beside the point too," I said with a pout, knowing the Asshole was right.

"I'm so sorry about her," said Jane, with an apologetic grimace to Bingley.

"I'm right here!" I said indignantly.

They both ignored me. "No, _I'm_ sorry," Bingley replied. "It was totally our fault."

"Damn straight it was," I interrupted.

"Are you alright, though?" He continued.

"Yeah, I think so," said Jane. A little bit shaken after it happened, maybe, but I'm perfectly fine now."

Bingley smiled dreamily. "Yeah you are perfect."

I snorted.

"Perfectly fine, I mean," he said quickly, turning the same colour as his hair. I felt for him.

"I'm going to head back home now," I said. "I'm sure my mother has some other horrendous chore that she needs me to do. Nice to meet you Charlie." He managed to tear his gaze away from Jane for enough time to wave and smile. "It was _lovely_ to see you," I said sarcastically to Darcy, who had stood up from his chair. He was really, really tall (especially compared to me), with delicious muscular arms and...STOP! This man is a menace.

Without even waiting for Jane, I turned to flee back to Longbourn.

.

I slammed the door behind me. That was a really bad habit I had, slamming doors. "Alright Mother," I called out. "You were partially right. Jane and _Charlie_ Bingley are probably already at it. They're gross and soppy. But you are so, _so _wrong about the other one. Whatever his name is. Will Arse-y or something. Absolutely awful. Not my type at all." I didn't bother to wait for my mother's reply, because I had had the satisfaction of proving her wrong.

I went out into the garden and found Dad trying to put up a string of fairy lights in the row of apple trees. He was wobbling dangerously on the ladder, so I went over to help him. "Not for you then?" Asked Dad, with a grin from above me.

I grimaced and shook my head. "God no."

"You know if boys aren't for you that's fine-"

"Ew! Dad! Stop!" I choked through nervous laughter. "I have a topless poster of Johnny Depp on my wall, thank you very much!"

Dad winced. "I really didn't need to know that."

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Your mother is worried that you'll be too saggy to fit into a nice wedding dress," he teased.

"What happened to that 'all in your own time' malarky?!"

"You know what your Mum is like with setting you girls up."

"Yes, but I thought she would grow out of it!"

Dad climbed back down the ladder after checking the lights were stable. "I doubt that'll ever happen. She will be at it until the day we die."

"Great," I groaned. "A whole lifetime of awkward hints and set up dates. What fun."

"You might find someone for yourself? Aren't there any nice men where you work?"

I raised an eyebrow. "The only unmarried male at the school is Boris the Hungarian Janitor. He's fifty years old and smells of cheese. That's just foul."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"_Angry people are not always wise."_

.

The next morning, I _accidentally _slept in. I should make it clear that _I did not mean to sleep in_. Mum had asked me to get up nice and early (ew - this is supposed to be a holiday), so that I could help her with getting everything ready for that evening. I groaned and swung my legs out of bed, threw on an old tshirt and a pair of cutoff denim shorts.

"And where have you been?" Mum shrieked at me, when I surfaced into the kitchen. I could tell that she was stressed because firstly, she was shrieking and secondly, her hair looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. She was currently wrestling with a chicken, trying to get it to fit into the oven.

"Didn't hear my alarm," I grunted. I wasn't a fan of waking up early when I didn't have to. Or when I had to, meaning that the kids had to be on good behaviour until about 10 a.m. I walked over to where Mum was crouching by the cooker, took the tray from her and slotted it into the oven. She patted my head like I was a baby again.

"Do me a favour, darling, and go and help your father set up the tables in the marquis?"

I was about to protest, but after looking out the kitchen window to the garden, I took pity on Dad, who was trying to carry about a trillion plates and cutlery sets. I slid on my canvas flip flops and went out into the garden.

"You alright Dad?" I asked, picking up a stack of plates and cutlery and copying how he was laying them out onto the table.

"Yes, thanks love. I don't know how your mother tricked me into doing this."

"How _did_ she persuade you into this? I don't think you ever told me."

"I can't quite remember how, but it must have had something to do with golf. It must have been golf, otherwise I wouldn't have caved. You know how much I hate parties."

There was nothing Dad loved more than golf and detested more than social occasions. Although he was incredibly charming when he was talking to people, I could always notice him tapping his foot on the floor or drumming his fingers on the nearest surface in annoyance. I guess I must take after than my Dad more than my Mum.

Dad and I stayed outside in the garden for ages, trying to make it look exactly as Mum wanted it to. Needless to say (she is a bit of a control freak), she felt the need to come out and 'direct' us a good few times, but by four o'clock, an hour before the guests were due to arrive, we were finished. Mum poked her head out of the garden window. She was in a dressing gown and her hair was up in curlers. "Are you two still out here? What on Earth has taken you so long? You won't be ready in time!"

"Well, there's gratitude for you," Dad muttered, but I saw him give mum a peck on the cheek as he went past into the house. I sighed. Why couldn't I find someone to love unconditionally, even when I found them annoying?

.

"Lizzie, you can't wear denim shorts to Mum's evening party. She'll disown you." Jane was looking at my outfit disapprovingly.

I sighed. "I know she won't be...approving...but this is all I have with me."

Jane smacked a hand to her head. "I can't believe you left you dress at home after all the trouble we had getting it in the first place!"

I looked down at the floor guiltily. I had dragged Jane out shopping with me for about six hours last weekend to find a dress that 1) didn't show all the flesh that I owned and 2) didn't cost about a month's wages. We had finally found one, just as the shops were closing and, when we got home, to keep it clean and neat, I had hung it up on the back of my door...and forgotten to put it into the car when we left.

"I can probably lend you something," said Jane, head on one side, as if thinking. This slightly filled me with terror. Jane's style was all flowy and flowery and not my style at all. Although she calls my style simple, I call it classy.

"Are you sure I can even fit in your clothes?" I asked skeptically. Jane was slim and petite, especially in the chest area, whereas I was more...shapely, shall we say.

"Yes, Lizzie. We've been through this before. You're not that much bigger than me. Here, try this."

The first dress that she threw at me was sequinned and bodycon. I didn't even bother trying it on. The second was slightly better; a pale pink, t-shirt sleeves, white collar skater dress, but I wasn't entirely happy about the way it sat on me - too tight around the bust for my liking. The third, therefore, was my only choice, which was lucky because I actually quite liked it. It was black, long, and not too tight. The neckline wasn't low enough to expose myself to everyone (fortunate - Colin was going to be there after all). I added a long gold necklace and sandals (see, I _do_ have some fashion sense!), which completed the look. Even my hair was vaguely cooperating, thanks to my dear friend, Hairspray.

When I emerged from the dressing room, also known as the en suite, Jane raised an eyebrow. "Well, Lizzie, I have to say - it almost looks as though you made an effort?"

"Gee thanks sis," I said, bumping her shoulder playfully. "You don't look half bad yourself."

It was annoyingly true. Jane, as usual, looked like an angel. She was wearing a knee length dress, with a gold, sparkling bodice and a gauzy white skirt. Effortlessly beautiful people should just be locked up.

"Come on, let's go downstairs," Jane said, looking at the clock on the wall.

"Why?" I asked, with a sly grin. "Are you waiting for someone special?" I knew she was thinking about a certain Charlie Bingley.

"Be quiet, Lizzie," Jane said, cheeks flushed pink. She swept past me out of the door, almost gliding down the stairs.

I psyched myself up a bit before going downstairs, where some guests were already starting to arrive. I smiled and greeted some of them, until I got bored of pretending to remember people I hadn't seen since I was six.

Out in the garden, I grabbed a bottle of beer from the bar, and opened the top with a wonderfully unladylike gesture (with my teeth), just how my daddy taught me. I sat down on one of the garden benches, observing a part of the garden which wasn't so crowded. At events like these, I prefer watching people than interacting with them. This makes me sound like some sort of social leper, which I promise you I'm not. I just have no interest in talking to most of these people, who are scarily very like my mother. My peaceful people watching was disturbed by Jane's voice.

"Lizzie? What are you doing just sitting there? Look who it is!" I didn't even have to turn around to know who she was talking about.

"Hi, there," I said to Bingley, smiling in what I hoped was a charming way and deciding to ignore Will Darcy. "It's great that you could make it at such short notice!"

"Oh, no trouble," Bingley said. "No trouble at all. Isn't that right, Will?"

Darcy nodded stiffly, but didn't say anything. I had to reluctantly admit that he did look good in his slim fit suit and tight white shirt, with a few tactfully undone buttons...but even his looks couldn't make up for his bad manners and lack of charm.

"Well, anyway," Jane said, brushing over the awkward silence. "Charlie was just telling me about his plans for Netherfield. He's planning to make it into a spa. Won't that be lovely?"

"Sounds wonderful! Just think Jane, whenever we're bored here, or we want to escape Marie's piano playing, we could just pop up the road for a massage. When does the building start?"

"Not for a while yet," Bingley said. "But I'm hoping we'll be well underway by Christmas." His eyes lit up endearingly when he was talking about his project, which he was obviously so passionate about.

After a bit more chit chat between Jane, Charlie and I (Darcy just sort of lurked around in the background), I excused myself to get a drink. Lord knows I would need one. One of the 'barmen' Mum had hired to man the bar tent handed me a glass of champagne. I went to smile a thanks at him and my jaw almost dropped open. He was...well, he was bloody gorgeous. Sort of rough and rugged, a bit like a cowboy without the hat and the accent, I was guessing. He was even wearing a plaid shirt.

"Hi," he said slowly, with a grin. He knew I had been drooling over him.

"Oh...sorry...hi," I said, after a few moment's silence. Great, he must already think I'm a dork.

"I'm George Wickham. I see you're enjoying yourself," he grinned, pointing at the glass of champagne, which had been drained about five seconds after I'd bought it. There was a definite tinge of sarcasm lacing his baritone voice that my saliva collect at the corners of my mouth.

"It's not really my thing," I admitted. "I'm Lizzie, the birthday 'girl's' daughter."

He shook my outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you." He looked at me conspiratorially. "You want something stronger than champagne?"

"My mother's ordered drinks stronger than champagne?" I asked, incredulously.

"Well...not _ordered_ them as such, but I've got a bottle of water underneath the table if you want some?"

"Do I ever!" I said, the most enthusiastic I had been all evening. "Drink is the only thing that can get me through this evening."

"The only thing?" George asked, with a wink. I chuckled at his blatant teasing and flirting. He bent down under the table and then surreptitiously handed me a tumblr, with a shot of vodka at the bottom. I raised the glass to my lips and downed the stinging liquid quickly. I let out a breath and put the plastic cup back on the white cloth covered counter.

"Impressive," George said. "You must resort to this often."

I laughed. "It's quite sad that I do. But I don't always get a hot bartender for company." I think I choked on my own spit when I realised what I had said. Lord, the drink was getting to me quicker and quicker the older I got.

George didn't comment on my blunder, but I saw him smile at his shoes. Now he must _know_ I'm a dork. I was about to try and move on from my slip-of-the-tongue and ask for another shot of my favourite drink, when I saw Colin. I groaned and threw my head back.

"You okay?" George asked me, one eyebrow raised.

I shook my head. "There's someone who I'd rather not see or talk to right now, so I'm gonna have to leave." I jerked my thumb in the direction of Colin, who thankfully hadn't yet seen me.

George's eyes followed my gesture. He nodded knowingly. "I see...an ex-boyfriend. You'd be surprised how many we get. Go on - I won't tell him where you're hiding."

"_No_," I hissed indignantly. "No! He is most definitely _not_ my ex-boyfriend, nor will he ever be. I like to think I have some standards."

George smiled. "I was wondering why a beautiful woman like you was doing with a greaseball like him…"

I blinked, eyes wide. My eyes flickered over to Colin, who had seen me. "I - I'm sorry, I've got to go. He's seen me!"

I ran behind the drinks tent and into my secret part of the garden. The entrance to the secluded spot was half hidden by ivy, an old brick archway that you could only see if you knew where it was. It was my secret safe place that I used to go to all the time to escape my mother's nagging, to escape my chores, to escape my homework...which is why I was so surprised when, after sitting on my hammock that was hung between two yew trees, I saw a man sitting on the bench opposite the little pond, about twenty metres away. I was beginning to recognise that dark, slightly curly haired head, atop of wide shoulders and a sculpted back...Will Darcy. Fate hates me.

I stood up sharply. "What are you doing here?" I asked, none too kindly.

Darcy turned around. He'd obviously not heard me approach him, because he sort of did a jumpy thing. When he saw it was me, though, his face went from surprised (and a teeny, tiny bit cute) to completely shut off. "There's no reason why I shouldn't be here. I'm not doing anything."

"I'm the reason you shouldn't be here," I growled. This was my space, my haven and Darcy was an unwelcome intruder.

"Correction - you're the reason I don't _want_ to be here," Darcy snarled. "Do you have any idea how annoying you are?"

My mouth dropped open. "I'm sure plenty of people have told you how rude _you_ are!"

Darcy shrugged. "It's come up in conversation once or twice."

I snorted. Once or twice? This man was getting to be a right royal pain in my ass. "Please would you get the heck out of my personal space."

He ignored my request and asked me a question. "Why are _you_ hiding here anyway. They're your family - shouldn't you be back there?"

My eyes narrowed. I didn't want him to know that I was uncomfortable. "There are people that I don't want to see. One of them includes you. Please _leave_." I knew I sounded like a spoilt teenager, but I wasn't really that bothered. I'm not normally a rude person. Sarcastic? Yes. Petty? Yes. Grumpy? Hell yes. But not rude. There are just some people in this world that completely rub me up the wrong way. Including Colin and Darcy. And also Robin Thicke, but I won't get into that now.

Darcy shot me a cocky, amused grin. I could tell that he was taking cruel amounts of pleasure from knowing that he was ruffling my feathers. Figuratively, obviously. "It seems like we have more in common than I first though. But since you asked so nicely." He stood up, brushing the seat of his trousers for any debris. My eyes absentmindedly followed his hands to his bottom, but I quickly looked away when I realised what I was doing. I mentally scolded myself.

I sat back down on my hammock, looking up at the sky, not watching him leave. I heard his footsteps, soft and heavy across the grass, but turning into harsh clicks when he reached the paving. I lay rocking on the hammock for a while until I fell asleep.

.

I can't have been asleep for that long because when I woke, it was only just beginning to dusky. I sat up and stretched, then sighed because I knew that I had better go back to the party. There was music playing now, though not good music, may I add. I hate seventies music with a passion, but it's mum's favourite era. In her words, it was 'when she was at her peak'. Ew. Right now was something by Lionel Richie. Seriously the phrase dancing on the ceiling really bugs me.

Back in the main garden, you could tell that the drinks were beginning to flow a little easier.

"Where have you been hiding?" My dad's voice came from behind my ear, making me jump. "You've left me alone to deal with Auntie Joy for half an hour."

Joy was one of the most full on people I've ever met. She talked non stop (literally), and only surfaced to come up for air to have a drink. Which usually only made the talking part a whole lot worse.

"Sorry Dad," I said, only feeling a tiny bit guilty. "I've been hiding from Colin."

"I suppose I forgive you then," Dad said, chuckling.

"Richard!" Came my Mother's voice, calling Dad. "You remember Andy and Sharon, don't you? Come and say hello." She was smiling widely and standing next to a couple.

"But I don't remember Andy and Sharon," Dad muttered, shuffling over to them. I smiled to myself.

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. "There you are!" Said an all too familiar voice. Oh god no. I'd managed to avoid this all night.

"Hi Colin," I said, not even pretending to be enthusiastic. "What do you want?"

"Just a chat! It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough."

Colin laughed his nasal laugh. "You've always been a tease. How have you been?"

"Alright." I didn't want to talk to him and I wasn't going to pretend. If he was being led on from this little to non existent amount of effort from me, then imagine what he would have been like if I had actually played along.

"Not very talkative tonight, are you Lizzie?"

Ugh. "Do you know what, Colin? I _am_ talkative. I just don't want to talk to you. How have you not grasped this yet?"

He blinked for a moment in silence and I wondered, nay _hoped_ that I might have finally gotten through to him. But then he laughed again, and said, "You are so funny when you try to be angry."

For a moment, I wondered if this situation was a complete joke. I wanted a relationship, I really did but when the only choice was this buffoon, anyone would rather be an old maid. I tried to walk away from him, so as not to lose my temper completely. Mum would explode if I caused a scene at her party. But Colin's arm wound around my waist, keeping me from going anywhere. I wiggled about a bit. "Get off me Colin," I growled.

"It's okay if you're attracted to me," he said. "There's no need to be shy. Lots of women are." I think I felt a tiny bit of sick come into my mouth. "If you just open up to me, you'll see that I'm not as intimidating as you think."

I was honestly about to scream at him, when cool, strong hands pulled me and Colin apart. "I think the lady has told you to leave her alone."

It was George, the bartender from earlier. I sighed with relief - a sane person to help me! Colin was flustering behind me, blabbering on about something I didn't care about. All I could focus on was George Wickham, my new knight in shining armour. It was quite dark now, the fairy lights strung up around the trees giving George an ethereal glow. I should have become a poet, not a teacher. Colin wandered off, to harass some other poor defenseless person.

I turned to George. "Thank you so much!" I knew I was gushing like a teenage girl. "Honestly, I think I was about to have a fit!"

"I could tell," George said, with a smile. "That's why I came over. Sorry I didn't help you out sooner."

I shook my head. "Don't be sorry! I'm so grateful - I thought I was going to be stuck with him for the whole evening." I shuddered at the thought.

I think George must have taken the shudder for a shiver because he rubbed his large hands up and down the tops of my arms. I didn't correct him though, because it had felt so nice. Too nice.

"Why don't you come back to the drinks tent with me? That way the douche won't come back again."

I tried not to sound too eager, but perhaps my "Sure!" came over a little keen.

.

I sat down behind the table on a pile of plastic crates. The other bartender, whose name I learned was Denny, smiled at me when I sat down. I had seen Lydia and Kat making eyes at him earlier in the evening and he seemed nice enough.

"Want a drink?" He asked.

"Throw us a Stella," I said, and did my party trick of opening it with my teeth.

"There's a reason why we have bottle openers," said George, a laugh in his voice.

I shrugged. "Takes too long." I glugged down some of the amber liquid and sat back and watched the two men serving out drinks. My eyes kept straying towards George's back and bum and I must have been staring too long because I was startled out of my daydreams by George saying, "Like what you see?" He was grinning teasingly at me.

I flushed a deep beetroot red. Being caught checking someone out was insanely embarrassing. "Sorry," I stuttered. "I wasn't...I mean, you know - I just...I was thinking, I didn't mean to…"

George laughed. "I'm not complaining. It actually makes me feel a little better about staring at you all evening too." I bit my lip to stop myself grinning like the Cheshire Cat - was it possible that I was flirting with a good looking guy, who wasn't a complete idiot?

The party was beginning to wind down a bit, some guests were beginning to leave and the garden was gradually emptying. After another fifteen minutes, the garden was practically empty. Marie and Kat were sent around with a bin bag, picking up discarded cups and paper napkins. Denny and George began to pack all the unopened drinks into cooler boxes.

"Can I do anything to help?" I asked, feeling a little bit like Lady Muck, just sitting there and watching them work.

Denny pointed out the boxes and their corresponding beverages. I was bending over to put some lemonade cans in their boxes, when I felt a light pinch on my butt. I spun around to see who could have done it and I was met with George's back, his shoulders rising and falling in a chuckle.

"We just need to take all the boxes back to the van, then," said Denny, when everything had been cleared away.

"I'll come," I said, pathetically not yet wanting to say goodbye to George.

In a fabulous show of strength from Denny and George, they lifted up three boxes each and began to take them round to the back exit of the driveway. I followed slowly behind them, practically dragging one box. Denny went back to the tent to get the last of the boxes, leaving George to load up the van. When he'd finished loading, and was waiting for Denny to finish up in the garden, he leant against the side of the van and looked at me.

"So...it was nice meeting you," he said. There was a pause. "Can I get your number?"

"Yes!" I squeaked, then coughed. "I mean, yeah, sure."

George pulled out an iPhone from his back pocket. I reeled off my number and fiddle around a bit, saving it. I was grateful that I was actually able to make my brain function at that point.

"Do you, er, live in London?" I asked, slightly shyly.

"Yeah, right in the centre. What about you?"

"Me too. Maybe we could meet up for drinks one day? If you're not sick of drinks by then," I said, finding myself more nervous about what the reply would be than I had anticipated.

"I like the sound of that. Can I text you the details?" My heart sank. I doubted he was interested if all he could was 'I'll text you'. But oh well, points for me trying, right?

Denny appeared and said, "Well, that's us done. It was nice to meet you Lizzie, thanks for your help." He shook my hand and climbed into the driver's seat.

That just left me and George again. "Well...bye then," I said, dismally.

"Is that all I get?" He asked, with mock indignation. "Just a goodbye? No kiss?"

I swallowed, my mouth dry. My kissing experiences were few and far between at most, so I didn't quite know the etiquette for moments like this. I decided for the safe option of a quick peck on the cheek. I leaned into the side of his face, but at the last moment, he turned his head, making my lips collide with his.

"Right, well," I said, flustered and not thinking straight.

"So, I'll text you then?" He said. I nodded and smiled, still not quite able to form words yet. I waved as he climbed into the van, which pulled away seconds later, gravel crunching under the tyres.

I turned to go back into the house, fanning myself with hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

"_Is he amiable?" _

.

It was a week after my mother's party at Longbourn and Jane and I were finally back in London, what I considered to be a safe proximity away from both my mother and Will Darcy, whom I had had to endure a further _three times_ because Jane wanted to see Charlie Bingley. He was as insufferable as ever and it was as much as I could do not to pull out my own hair. That bad.

I had promised Chaz, my best friend, that we would meet up when (or if) I returned from Longbourn. I had known Chaz for about fifteen years, from the time I was in secondary school. The first time I saw him, I knew we would be best friends. He was hilarious, utterly mad and totally gay. He has the most interesting fashion sense I have ever seen on a human being; today he was wearing knee length pink shorts. Sometimes I worry for his sanity, but he is far too entertaining for me to be concerned.

He had persuaded me to leave the comfort of my sofa and we had met at our favourite coffee shop, just around the corner from where I live. It was called Bean and had, by far, the most delicious coffee for miles around. Even though it was only a tiny shop, it was always busy and Chaz and I had practically fought for the window seats that we were now lounging on.

After taking a long sip of his coffee, Chaz looked at me over the top of his straw. "So. Tell me about him then."

I blinked. He was acting kind of weird. Or that might just be him. I can't tell sometimes. "I thought I had told you about him. His name is George, the bartender-"

"No, no," said Chaz, waving a dismissive hand in front of his face. "Not him. The other one. Darcy. You were obviously attracted to him."

I spluttered into my coffee and had to cough for several seconds before turning to my friend with what I hoped was a horrified look on my face. After coughing for some time longer (without so much as a pat on the back from Chaz, might I just add), I managed to splutter out a somewhat pitiful, "What?"

Chaz shrugged. "You don't normally care about people being grumpy shits. _You_ are a grumpy shit. So, therefore, I can conclude that you are only annoyed that he was so standoffish to you because you thought he was hot."

My jaw dropped. "What?" I said again. "I mean, sure, he was good looking." I saw Chaz smirk in smug satisfaction. "But that doesn't mean I find him attractive!" I insisted. Then, forlornly, "Does it?"

Chaz kept on pressing me for more information, which made me squirm in my seat. Now that I was forced to think about it, I suppose I _had _found Will Darcy attractive. In looks anyway, not personality. However, I didn't want to tell Chaz that he was right - his head was already big enough as it was - and to be honest, I wasn't sure if I wanted to admit it to myself.

"Hey, look," said Chaz, suddenly, startling me out of my skin. "Look, it's Georgie!"

I snapped out of my Darcy induced revelry, and turned to see what Chaz was pointing at. It was, indeed, Georgie, a mutual friend of Chaz and I from our university days. We had been pretty good friends (although not as close as me and Chaz), but I didn't get to see her as often as I used to, because she, unlike me my mother likes to remind me, married and had a baby. We waved her over. "Hey, Gee," I said, pecking her once on each cheek. "What are you doing here?"

Georgie waved her hand absentmindedly. "I was just doing some shopping down the road and I stopped in to get a cold drink - it's boiling out there!"

Chaz rolled his eyes dramatically, "_Tell _me about it," he said. "I used deodorant this morning, but I'm still a little damp."

I stared at him for a moment, a little disgusted, and wondered if he was joking. I couldn't be sure.

"Anyway," said Georgie, briskly. "I'm glad I ran into you. I was going to call you both later. I'm having a dinner party and it's been so long since we've really seen each other. My brother's just got back from a long business trip and I realised that you've never met him! There'll be a few others there but it'll be a pretty casual evening. Up for it?"

We both nodded and Georgie gave us more details about the evening, then in her usual, ditzy way, rushed off, saying that she had to relieve the babysitter. Georgie's son was the most adorable child that I've ever had the fortune to meet - he was probably almost three now, and I'm not ashamed to boast that he really likes me. (See, I am good with kids!) She had fallen pregnant with him shortly after leaving university and shortly before she had married her husband, Hugh. Ben had the same blonde hair as his mother and was a complete angel. Chaz and I waved goodbye and Georgie hurried out of the cafe.

"Is she muttering to herself?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

She always was forgetful, so we weren't surprised when she came rushing back in because she had left her sunglasses on the coffee table.

.

I picked up my phone to stop the incessant beeping that was my ringtone. I was mid way through trying to paint my toenails, so I had to awkwardly hold the phone somewhere between my neck and shoulder. Needless to say, not comfortable at all. "Hello?"

"What are you wearing?" said Chaz, by way of greeting. For some, those words could have been hot. For me, it meant fashion trouble. Chaz always tried to control what I was wearing, but I refused to let myself end up looking like a Wham video extra.

"Er, just a white dress. Nothing showy. Why?"

"Just wondering if I had to colour co-ordinate with you. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Okay."

"Oh, Liz - I'm driving. I don't want a repeat of last time." The 'last time' I drove Chaz somewhere, I had accidentally crashed into a dustbin, while parking. I still claim that there was no way I could have seen the bin from the angle I was at to my mirror, but Chaz wouldn't buy it. "See you soon!" He hung up.

I blew in the direction of my nails, hoping that I wouldn't get any on my clothes (that always happens to me), then pulled on my simple white cotton summer dress. By the time I had put on some lip gloss and brushed my hair (wavy hair takes a long time to brush, okay?) Chaz had arrived.

"I'll get the door," Jane called from downstairs.

"Thanks!" I screeched out my door. "I'll be down in two minutes!" I slipped my phone into my bag and slid on a pair of brown leather sandals. I was not a fan of these open toed monstrosities - what with the amount of times I had stubbed my toes in them, it was a wonder that I had any toes left. But the words of my mother the night of prom came back to haunt me: "No pain, no gain." I grimaced.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and skipped down the stairs. "I don't know when we'll be back, so don't wait up for me Janey," I said. "I've got my keys," I added, seeing her open her mouth to check.

I left the house, to see Chaz waiting for me by his car. Which was a Ferrari by the way. No big deal or anything. IT'S JUST A FLIPPING FERRARI, I ALWAYS FORGET HOW AMAZING IT IS. Ahem. I forgot to mention that Chaz's family are extraordinarily rich. He can afford things like Ferraris. I looked at my little car, parked next to the red Italian beast and sighed.

"Do you know the directions?" I asked Chaz, who was firing up the engine.

He paused what he was doing and looked at me seriously. "Yes," he said, deadly serious. "I know exactly where I am going and I do not need any help from you, whatsoever." Okay, I have a teeny tiny admission to make. I am possibly the world's biggest backseat driver. Ever. This is probably why Jane lets me drive her everywhere, even though I am bad at it, because that is preferable to me trying to direct her. I can't help it - I am almost certain it runs in my DNA because my mother is exactly the same. Lord help anyone driving me and my mother anywhere.

We arrived at Georgie's house in about twenty five minutes, even though I am pretty sure we could have got there sooner if Chaz had listened to my instructions. We knocked on the shiny black door, wine bottle in hand. (A present, obviously, I'm not a wino.)

When it did open, I almost dropped the bottle.

"Are you following me?!" I screeched in a high pitched voice. Because standing there in front of me was Will Darcy, who I'm pretty sure was haunting me.

Chaz looked at me with some concern. "Are you alright?"

I put the hand that wasn't holding the bottle over my eyes, counted to three, then took it off again, hoping that it was all some kind of crazy dream; no, nightmare. It wasn't a dream and Darcy just looked at me, smirking smugly, the bastard. "That's the one that I was telling you about," I said to Chaz, waving a distracted and slightly shaky hand in Darcy's direction.

I heard Georgie's voice echo down the halls. "Will? Aren't you going to let them in?" I heard her footsteps come closer. Georgie pushed past Darcy, who was still standing in the doorway. She leant forward and kissed Chaz and I on the cheek. Still half fuming and half in shock, I just shoved the wine at her, unable to speak.

"I see you've met my brother," she said. _Her brother?!_ "Will, this is Chaz and-"

"We've met," Darcy said, cutting her off sharply.

"Oh…" Georgie seemed a bit put out, and probably slightly confused by the tension between Darcy and I.

"I met him when Jane and I went to stay with my parents," I explained. "Your brother and Charles Bingley were up at Netherfield." I couldn't quite meet the insufferable man's eyes.

Georgie led us into her house. "You never mentioned this, Will," she said, slightly accusingly.

I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye. "I guess it just never came up in conversation," he said. Oh God, was he blushing? Ugh.

Suddenly, Georgie's son, Ben came rushing into the room, like one of those wind up toys. He was wearing dinosaur pyjamas. Georgie's husband, Hugh, came rushing into the room after him, a pained expression on his face. "I couldn't stop him," he said, between pants, to his wife. "He wanted to see Lizzie."

I bent down to the toddler's eye level and gave him a big hug. "Hi Ben!"

"Hello Lizzie," he replied. The 'z's' in my name sounded like 'th's' because of his child's lisp.

"Are you supposed to be in bed?" I asked him, with mock seriousness.

He bit his lip, obviously debating whether or not to lie. "Maybe…" he finally settled on.

I looked at Hugh, feeling more than a little sorry for him (he loved Ben a lot, obviously, and was very good with him, but had minimal control over the often hyperactive young boy). I waited a beat before saying, "First one to you bedroom wins!" I let Ben have a little head start before I began to chase him. "I'm gonna catch you!" I said, hearing him shriek with laughter up the staircase.

I tucked him up, like I used to do with Lydia, when she was still cute and little. I clicked the door quietly shut behind me, because he was already drifting off to sleep.

.

Back downstairs, Hugh poured me a glass of wine. "Thank you so much for that, Liz," he said gratefully. "It's definitely the terrible twos - he just won't do what he's told."

I shrugged. "When you see some of the kids that I have to deal with at school, then you'll realize that Ben is an angel in comparison."

Hugh chuckled. "An angel? Try telling that to Will," he said, pointing to his brother in law. "Ben made him play with him in the bath...that's my shirt Will's wearing. He was completely soaked by the time Ben had finished."

I snorted with laughter and Will scowled back in response. Jeez, he needed to lighten up.

There were a few other of Georgie and Hugh's friends there, so I chatted with them for a bit too while Georgie finished the dinner preparations. I tried to keep my distance from Will Darcy, but that plan slightly fell apart when it came to dinner.

.

"Dinner's just about ready guys. If you all want to sit down, I'll bring it out for you. I've put name cards on the table, which should make it a bit easier," Georgie said, beckoning us all into an adjoining room, where a long table was set out and laid.

I searched for my name on the little white cards, hoping that I at least knew the person who I was sitting next to. Boy, I knew them alright. My name was next to William Darcy's. Typical. I shot an appealing look towards Chaz's direction, willing him to swap with me. But he didn't see me (obviously, I am far more subtle than I thought I was), so with heavy heart I plopped, yes, plopped, down onto the seat that I had been designated. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew that things couldn't end well.

I cheered up a bit when the food was brought out. That's what comes with being vaguely materialistic and permanently peckish. Georgie was a very good cook and her delicious smoked salmon parcels shut me up for a good ten minutes. Although shutting me up with food isn't hugely difficult. I even started to become optimistic about the rest of the evening. It wasn't as if I actually had to talk to the insufferable bugger. It was easy enough to ignore him - he made minimal conversation, consisting, usually, of only a few words. He would probably have been more at home in a mortuary than here at a dinner party.

Then, things started to get worse. Georgie, who was sitting next to me, decided that it would be a good idea to try and start a conversation with both me and Darcy. "So, Lizzie, tell me how you met Will. I don't think you actually said earlier."

I could practically sense Darcy gearing up to butt in with his (wrong) version of events, so I quickly said, "He basically tried to run me and Jane over in his car."

I could see Georgie analysing my face, trying to see if I was joking. "He did?"

This time Darcy managed to speak before me, "Actually Elizabeth was driving slower than a geriatric snail and didn't bother to use her indicator light to show that she was turning. So, really, she almost crashed into me."

"Excuse me!" I exclaimed. "Firstly, I think you will find that I most certainly was using my indicator light. I'm a very careful driver, I'll have you know." I think I heard Chaz snort with laughter, but I tactfully ignored him. "Secondly, no one calls me Elizabeth. Only my mother does and even then she's pushing it. But last time I checked you are most certainly not my mother."

"No and I wouldn't want to be that crazy old bat," he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, although I wasn't sure if that was intentional.

I stood up sharply, eyes blazing. As much as my mother pisses me off sometimes, I won't stand for anyone (except me) badmouthing her. "How dare you," I hissed darkly. I met his eyes and found no remorse or shame. I felt myself begin to shake with anger. "How dare you say that in front of me about my own mother. I can't quite tell if you are incredibly stupid or incredibly rude. I suspect that it is an ugly combination of both. You have no right saying that. You don't know anything about my mother. And what little you do know is only good! She let you into her house as a guest."

Darcy then stood up too, to join in the shouting. "She may have let me into her house, but why? Because she was trying to pair up Charlie with your sister. I heard her telling her horrid friends. And then when you went off with that vile bartender," he said this as if it even tasted vile on his tongue, "She almost died and went to heaven. I mean, how desperate must she be to get rid of you if George Wickham is all it to get her excited."

Georgie gasped at the same time I did. I rarely cry, especially in public. I hate crying - my eyes go all puffy and sting and whatever makeup I have on my face just dribbles and I end up looking very much like the raccoon from Pocahontas. But I felt stinging tears well up in my eyes and I bit my lip, hard, to try and stop the flow. The fact that my mother was getting desperate in terms of my love life had been a small concern niggling away in the back of my brain for a while now and to have it voiced by Will Darcy, of all people, was particularly painful.

Chaz stood up, eyes blazing, as ever acting as my knight in shining armour and saving me from having to choke out a retort and give away the fact that I was on the verge of sobbing. The other dinner guests had gone silent and I knew that I had gone beet red in embarrassment.

"Shut the hell up, asshole," said Chaz, his voice stony. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

I looked up from my unfinished plate of food and saw that the whole table was staring at me. Letting out a breathy sob, I pushed my chair back from the table and ran from the room. I lent against the wall of the hallway, by the front door, after having picked up my purse. I tried to take a couple of deep, steadying breaths, but only succeeded in giving myself hiccups. Georgie and Chaz came out into the hallway and Chaz gave me a big hug.

"Do you want me to take you home?" He asked kindly.

"Oh Chaz, yes please. I'm sorry to drag you away, though...you can stay if you want, I'll get a taxi, I don't want to ruin your evening. And Georgie, I've messed up your lovely dinner."

"Don't be silly," Georgie said, rubbing my shoulder, gently. "I'll be having very strong words with my idiot brother later, you can count on that. I'm appalled by what he said, honestly. I'm so ashamed."

"Yeah, and I know if I had to stay in the same room as him much longer, I would probably punch him," Chaz added. "No offence," he said to Georgie.

I thanked Georgie for the evening and kissed her on the cheek. Chaz led me out the house and fired up his car.

.

Later that evening, in his London flat, Will Darcy mulled over what had happened that evening with a glass of whiskey, in front of the news channel. He wasn't quite sure how he had said those words - it was as if they had slipped off his tongue. He hadn't even realised he'd said them until it was too late...and then he'd seen the tears well up in her eyes and he'd felt like the world's biggest bastard. Hell, he probably was. The other guests barely spoke to him for the rest of the evening. His sister's few choice words about how Lizzie was one of the sweetest girls she knew and how she was so ashamed of him had had the desired effect. He felt terrible, but didn't know what to do about it.

After all, the girl couldn't know how he felt about George Wickham, the man who he'd walked in on, ten years ago, when he was twenty five, banging his ex-fiance, just two weeks before their marriage. He had sworn never to talk or see his former best friend and best man again, so it had been quite a shock to see him at the Bennet party. He had taken comfort in the fact that he had obviously become more successful than Wickham, but his feelings were still confused, so he had snuck off to a part of the garden that was almost hidden from visitors. And then Lizzie had approached him and he'd snapped at her...God, she probably thought he was such a prick. Will gulped at his whiskey, barely feeling it burn down his throat.

Her mother wasn't even that bad really. Slightly eccentric, maybe, but quite endearing, really. It was probably just quite alien to him, having grown up without a mother for most of his life. He wasn't used to mother ways anymore.

And yet, despite Georgie's threats and his own guilt, he still couldn't bring himself to apologize to Lizzie. He had too much pride for that. Egotism has it's price to pay, after all.


End file.
